Requiem for Blood
by Evaden
Summary: Tatiana's mother murdered herself to escape him; now, eighteen years later, Dracula is intent on revenge...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Van helsing, the man or the movie. And I don't wish to. After all, they can't all be Jack Sparrow. No, Dracula is the one I want. I'm just borrowing him for a bit.

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**------------------------------------------------------------Prologue**

Transylvania, 1750

A woman sat alone by herself at a small wooden table. The room where she sat was dark and silent, unlit by any lamp or fire. A coldness pervaded the walls and settled over the room, gradually becoming stronger as the night intensified.

The woman said nothing, whether to herself or to anything else, for there was nothing left to say. Fervently, she rubbed her thin fingers over a small wooden crucifix, her lips silently forming the words of a prayer as she cowered there. She stared fixedly at the window in the wall in front of her - it was open, and the curtains were drawn completely back to reveal the calm indigo sky of night. Clouds billowed and massed in the heavens where no star shone and just through their thin vaporous sheen could be seen the ghostly shape of the moon.

The night was not still. An eerie wind blew back and forth through the window of the room where the woman sat, lifting the curtains and tossing them a little, so slightly that they seemed to move of their own accord. In the distance an owl screeched; somewhere within the heart of the blackened forest, it had found its prey.

A sudden breeze came through the trees with a low, sad moan. The woman did not hardly blink. Her fingers worked faster over the crucifix in her hands and her pulse sped up but she did not move from her spot. Then everything fell silent.

The curtains stirred.

With a burst of light the moon came drifting out from behind the clouds, its blue aura streaming through the window of the room. Like a sentient being it hung there, leeringly, in the sky. Clearly it shone, a magnificent fullness of the moon, its shape reflecting off of the seated woman's eyes.

The prayer died on her lips, and she blanched.

"It is time," she whispered.

Over the dark line of the mountains in the distance, a small black dot came soaring. Steadily it gained speed and size as it neared. Closer and closer it flew, higher and higher into the sky, intent on its course and never wavering an instant in its approach. The woman did not see it coming, but instinctively she seemed to realize its presence. She trembled, like a frail and fragile flower in the face of a storm, and her eyes filled with tears as she stared sadly up into the sky.

The dot vanished among the exfoliating masses in the sky.

All was still.

"_For those that walk with the devil..._" the woman utterred weakly, "_Must pay the price_."

A dark shadow moved behind the clouds, circling the moon like a ghostly phantom.

"_I must pay my price_."

Suddenly the shadow broke free and soared in front of the moon, a creature beyond all comprehension, like a bat. It beat its enormous wings one time and soared straight in the direction of the little house and the room where the woman sat. She watched it approach, calmly, though her face was full of sadness and tears. The great creature loomed outside of the window and materialized into the room.

Now it was a man, clad entirely in black. His eyes glistened.

"Hello, Franjeska," he said softly. The woman slowly raised her eyes to meet his gaze, but said nothing.

The man paced slowly around the table and came up behind her.

"The witches are talking, Franjeska," he hissed in her ear. "They are talking about you. I don't like when they talk about you like that."

Franjeska did not reply.

"They are saying things, dear one," the man continued, his voice bitter. "I don't like what they are saying. They say that you wish to end..." he kissed her hair, and her neck, "...our love."

A silent tear slid slowly down Franjeska's face. Finally she spoke.

"They speak truly."

The man hissed and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck making her wince in pain. "They cannot speak truly as you say. You cannot end it."

Franjeska glared up at him through her tears. "I can," she muttered through gritted teeth, "And I intend to do it tonight."

The man looked at her, then suddenly he laughed and released her neck.

"You show much courage, to speak to me thus," he grinned, pacing over to the fireplace at the left of the room, "But unfortunately, you have no power over me. I chose you, Franjeska, to be my bride, and you cannot resist."

Franjeska rose slowly from her chair and turned to face her tormentor, at the same time drawing a glistening dagger from behind her back.

"I resist."

The man's face froze.

"if you do that," he threatened, an edge in his voice, "I will only do unto your offspring as I have done unto you." Franjeska smiled knowingly at him.

"Unfortunately, that is impossible. The witches have placed a charm on my daughter to protect her from you. By the time it carries no power, she will hold knowledge sufficient to resist your temptations."

The man took a menacing step forward.

"I will bite you: I will sink my teeth into your mortality just as I sink them into your flesh," he said. "You are powerless against me."

Franjeska held the dagger up before the enraged gaze of the pitiless vampire. "No I am not," she whispered, and plunged the metal into her heart. With a cry of rage, the man leapt at her and caught her as she fell, burying his teeth into her neck. Blood streamed out of both wounds on her body, and the life eeked out of it. The vampire felt her blood on his tongue, warm and thick, and burning.

He drew back and stared into the woman's water-clear eyes. She smiled at him, blood staining her lips dark in the moonlight.

"Silver: the dagger was silver," Franjeska told him in a quivering voice, managing a small triumphant laugh as her breath shortened out, "To prevent you from bringing me back."

"You've thought of everything," the vampire grimaced. Franjeska nodded.

"I have done evil to cavort with the undead," she whispered faintly. "I cannot escape my judgment. Farewell, . . . Vladislaus . . . Dracula. . ."

Her voice trailed off and as Dracula held her, she died, a smile on her lips and a look of peace on her face. Her body hung limp in his arms and her head bent downwards so that her thick hair lay in a silky pile on the floor. The vampire watched as her pure red blood trickled from her neck and onto her white cheek, inching into the corner of her mouth. He felt nothing.

There was nothing but emptiness inside him just as he had no soul.

He lifted up his head and screamed a loud, terrible shriek of misery and dire anguish, not that Franjeska had died but because he was incapable of remorse.

In the little town not far away, every person heard that scream. They awoke, and trembled in fear though they did not even know what had happened. Dracula vanished from all knowledge from that day forth. Some people swore that he had died, that the Devil had finally let him rest for ever...but others swore that he still walked the fields, under cover of night. They said that he was waiting alone in his tower for something to happen.

And thus time passed.

Dracula was waiting.

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R&R!


	2. Chapter One

Thanks so much to all of my reviewers. I haven't updated in a while because I had lost my original fic idea. Well, there were some problems with the plot that I couldn't work out without taking a little time to do it. Hope the chapter lives up to the last one. ;)

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**Eighteen Years Later…**

Transylvania, 1768

Only daisies grew in that field.

Tatiana stood in the middle of it, perfectly motionless amidst the tableau. She held her breath, as if it might disturb the nature around her. The field she stood in was a yellow shade of green, as it always seemed to be, even in winter. The daisies, the only flowers that colored it, lived and died there like all other flora but the grass retained its pigment even when the snows of January covered it to its tips.

It would be winter soon. Already the mountains in the distance had gathered their snow and hovered ominously on the darkened horizon like the prelude to a storm. For Tatiana, there would be no daisies for her on her birthday. She had been born in the blackest of December, on the longest night of the year. Snow was the only weather she knew on her day.

It was all very well. She was sick of the little white flowers.

Everything she owned was the same, like daisies. Her cloaks were gray, or brown. She had a white apron, and wooden clogs; they were earthen colors, and she hated them with a passion.

She longed for something red.

Tatiana had never been called beautiful, but that was because she never flaunted her face like most girls in her village. They were happy, she realized, about so many things, and they wanted husbands. Tatiana was neither happy nor in search of a mate, and she did not desire to have any part in the lives of the other girls. She hated the looks of the villagers as she passed them in the streets. They pitied her because she had no mother.

She didn't know why they pitied her.

There was no regret in her for what she did not have. Tatiana had black hair that she kept straight and long, down to her knees, that she would never cut. It wasn't gold and shiny like the hair of the other girls, but golden hair always got more attention, and that was something that Tatiana did not want. She had white skin like paper, and people told her that skin that beautiful was a rare gift. That part of her drew attention, and in order to avoid it she wore long sleeves and kept her hands hidden in gloves or the pockets of her cloak.

_I don't want to be like the beautiful girls._

To be beautiful was a sin. The witches that lived in the forest had told her that.

They were ugly.

Tatiana's black eyes darted to the side, to the mountain to her right that rose up from the field as a fearful hulk. Gray clouds were beginning to hide its peak, and the sky as well. Tatiana didn't look up to see if a storm was gathering. She could feel one in her soul.

With one white hand she reached up and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Slowly she stretched the other hand out before her. In the distance, a low rumble of the thunder came rolling up over the hills, echoing morbidly around the field where she stood. A single drop of rain fell into Tatiana's palm.

The glistening drop lingered in the hollow of her hand before dissolving on her skin.

A flash of red caught her eye.

It was a rose. A single rose, growing in the middle of the field, it's royal color blinding against the dull tapestry of the field like a drop of blood.

Tatiana felt her breathing increase. Quickly she reached her hand out and fell onto her knees. With slow, labored crawl she approached the flower. It was a quite the only one of its kind. Tatiana glanced around but she could not even see on the edge of the forest another rosebush that might have scattered its seeds over the field.

Her face brightened as she bent down beside the rose, admiring its rich hue with hungry eyes. She laid down on the ground, keeping her gaze to the rose and the gray blue sky that spun above it.

_You will attract much attention with a color like that_. Tatiana smiled to herself.

_Talk to me. I'm alone too_.

The clouds hid the sun. A raindrop fell and glistened on a single red petal.

Hello.

Tatiana looked up. A tall man stood over her. He had black hair like night, and eyes like velvet. His face was pale, and from his shoulders streamed a long cloak that fell to his feet like a curtain. He was smiling at her.

You are not from my village, Tatiana said to him.

No, I'm not. He laughed. Tatiana kept her eyes locked to his, and did not move from her position on the ground.

Why are you here? You're disturbing me.

The man knelt down beside her and laid a delicate hand on the rose. How do you like this flower?

She blinked at him.

I am very fond of it. I am very fond of red.

Are you? He looked surprised, but pleased. You should wear it more often.

Tatiana frowned.

We do not stitch clothing in red. Those who wear red are considered unclean.

Do you think it is unclean?

No.

What is your name?

Tatiana Veronica Radislaw. She saw the man smile again at her, as if her words had given him much pleasure. Another voice met her ears from across the field.

They are calling me. I must go to them.

She got up very slowly, and so did the stranger. They were facing each other now, and but Tatiana was not ashamed. She did not break her gaze. Something in her was attracted to the dark man, and she had a sudden urge to touch the long strands of black hair that hung on either side of his face. He was looking at her.

You can have the rose. I want you to have it.

Tatiana didn't miss a beat. Why? I will take it if I like.

It's not yours to take. I will give it to you. I made it for you.

I don't believe you.

The man did not say anything else. Tatiana reached down defiantly and plucked the flower from the ground. One of the thorns pricked her finger. She saw a drop of blood form above the wound.

_It hurt me._

Can I see it?

Tatiana looked at him curiously. No, you can't. I like you. Will I see you again?

The man nodded. Yes, you will see me again.

What is your name?

I will not say that yet. Soon you will know me, but not now.

Tatiana brought her hood that had fallen to her back over her head again, covering her hair. Tucking her hands back into her cloak, she turned and ran away over the field, back to the village. The rose was in her pocket, but she felt as if the color had bled all over, like the wound on her finger had bled.

She did not feel unclean.


End file.
